Page 34 of Wild Irish

He takes a step towards me and places his hands on my waist. “I thought we could visit Knocknarea.”

“Knocknarea?”

“It’s about an hour’s drive, then we can catch the sunset at Strandhill and get a bite to eat.”

I glance down at his chest, itching to run my fingers over his flesh, down across his chiselled abs, across the dusting of hair on his lower belly that trails beneath his jeans. My mind goes back to last night, him kissing me, pushing between my thighs, filling me with the thick length of his cock. I can’t help but shiver at the memory.

“Strandhill?”

He frowns, brows drawing down. “Number fourteen on yer list.”

“Oh, right.” I glance away when he continues to watch me. I could tell him about Maeve, and maybe I should, but I don’t want his pity. “Don’t you have to work?”

“No.”

When he doesn’t elaborate, I shake my head. I don’t push the subject. It’s none of my business. I have my secrets, and he has his. It’s not like we’re in a relationship. As soon as the rental car is fixed, I’ll be on my way and I’ll never see him again.

Why not cross a few more things off Maeve’s list, if I can?

“Okay.” I place my palms on his chest, wanting nothing more than to feel his lips on mine again.

His eyes glint with mischief, but instead of kissing me, he smacks my ass, then drops his hands, and turns back to the stove. “If ye hurry, we may be able to visit Carrowmore as well.”

I remember that one. My grandmother used to tell us stories about the ancient stone circles. They fascinated Maeve, but in all honesty, I could care less about a bunch of old rocks.

“Great,” I mutter, as I start toward the bedroom.

I came here to check off the items on Maeve’s list, hoping it would give me some sort of peace, but right now, I can’t think of anything more I want to do than just spend the day in bed with Cillian.

Chapter 14

Cillian

IknowDelaney’s hiding something, I just haven’t figured out what it is yet. But I know it has something to do with that damn list of hers.

My purpose for taking her to Sligo for the day isn’t completely selfless. When I was in Dublin, I met up with a few of the band members of O’Mulligans. The lead singer owns the Crow’s Head Pub in Strandhill. I promised I’d stop by and listen to their sound. They’ve been looking for a new lead guitarist and back-up singer.

It might be something I’m interested in once I figure out how to get out of my contract with Wild Irish. I’ve got a lawyer working on it, but right now his only suggestion is to stick with the fucking tour schedule we have planned, then bow out afterwards.

Not going to happen. I can’t stand being in the same town as my brother, and I’m sure as hell not going to be subjected to six months in a tour bus with him. But the tour starts in three months, and if I don’t figure something out soon, it’s either going to be that hell, or I’ll be facing a hefty lawsuit.

I haven’t figured out which is worse.

“I’m ready.” Delaney comes into the living room wearing a pair of slip-on shoes and a cute pink sundress. She looks gorgeous, but she doesn’t look like she’s about to hike an hour up a mountain.

“That’s what ye’re wearing?” I raise my eyebrows.

She looks down, then back up. “I was planning on it. Why?”

“Did ye not bring a pair of hiking boots?”

“No.” She frowns.

I wonder if the woman did any research at all before she decided to come here.

“Ye do know Knocknarea is a mountain?”

“Yes.”

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